“I’ll get it, Bosses, I’ll get it!”

Mr. Javier came flying out of the kitchen, held aloft by his jetpack. Expertly, he flew down the long flight of stairs and pulled open the door.

Was there another murder afoot?

Or – perhaps even worse – could it be the dreaded Moriarty?

No. It was puppies.

I could tell this from the incessant yapping that is particular to the youth of the dog species. You’d never hear a group of kittens being so loud. Also because I heard Waggins say to Mr. Javier, in his street-urchin accent: “Is Mr. Bones at home? Can he come out and play?”

“Your little friends are here,” I said wryly.

“Yes, he is,” I heard Mr. Javier say to Waggins. “But he and Dr. Catson are busy discussing important matters in the drawing room.”

I collapsed my head into my paws. Great. Now the dog had the turtle calling the living room the drawing room too.

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Javier!” Bones bellowed. “You may send the puppies up!”

There followed all the scampering and annoying displays of enthusiasm one would expect from a six-pack of puppies as they made their hurried way up into the drawing room. Er, I mean living room.

Behind them, a hovering Mr. Javier brought up the rear.

“Waggins!” Bones enthused. “And puppies!” This last confirmed something I’d been suspecting: that Bones had his own issues with names, meaning he had never bothered to learn what the other five were called, still had no clue, and now was too embarrassed to ask.

Before anyone could say anything further, the six-pack of puppies were falling all over themselves in their eagerness to greet their good friend, the dog. Big as he was, their sheer numbers soon brought him to the floor. Then commenced the kind of overenthusiastic canine display of affection that I hope to never see the likes of again – all that tumbling and rolling. At one point I had to actually shout, “Look out for that vase!” but no one was listening.

At last, the puppies exhausted by their exertions, order was somewhat restored.

“Now, you lot sit and behave,” Waggins admonished the other five, as though he hadn’t been involved. “You just sit there on the couch and listen to what Mr. Bones has to say.”

Obediently, the puppies lined up in a military straight line side by side on the sofa, with Waggins all the way at one end and Bones sitting up importantly on the floor in front of them.

“I was just about to tell dear Dr. Catson,” Bones said, “a story involving the last case we worked on. You do remember, don’t you, er, John Smith, the Secretary, and the double murder which culminated in the arrest of Jefferson Hope?”

The five unnamed puppies thumped their Cocker Spaniel tails and wagged their heads and Waggins said, “Remember it, sir? We helped you to solve it!”

“Just so,” Bones said. “Would you like to hear the story as well, then?”

More eager tail thumping and head wagging. Oh, I did wish they would stop. If they kept it up, Bones would return to his overeager ways.

“Ahem.”

Who said that?

“Ahem. Ahem-ahem-ahem-ahem-AHEM!”

“Oh!” Bones said. “Mr. Javier!”

“Why have all the puppies been invited to listen to the mystery story but not Mr. Javier?”

“Well, I – ”

“Does Mr. Javier not like mystery stories? Is Mr. Javier not considered to be intelligent? Do you think that Mr. Javier is just a housekeeper/cook without a brain in his head?”

When did Mr. Javier become so testy? And when did the turtle begin referring to himself in the third person?

“Yes, well – ” Bones tried again.

“Has Mr. Javier no feelings? Does Mr. Javier not bleed when you prick him?”

And now the turtle was quoting Shakespeare!

“Of course you are welcome to join us,” Bones said graciously, recovering from his initial surprise at the turtle onslaught. “Please sit.” With his paw, he indicated the one comfy seat not currently occupied by puppies. It just so happened to be the comfy cushion in the bay window, my usual favorite spot for napping.

I was forced to settle for one of the wing chairs. Since it was still facing the fireplace, and since I couldn’t turn it around by myself, I was further forced once I was seated to crane my neck around the back of the chair so I could see the group. I suppose I could have taken a seat on the floor, like the dog, but I prefer not to floor-sit in polite company. Or impolite, for that matter – you know, puppies – because company is still company.

“I just assumed,” Bones said, continuing to placate the turtle, “that you were too busy with more important things to listen to my story.”

“The dusting can wait,” Mr. Javier said. “I would like to be entertained. I would like to be intellectually stimulated for once.”

“Very well. Then I shall begin.”

Finally! I thought.

“But it is quite a tale I am about to tell you,” the dog said with his usual air of self-importance, as he gave stern looks all around but mostly at the puppies, “so I do hope there will be no interruptions.”

The puppies smirked and snickered at this.

“Limited interruptions?” Bones tried, hopefully.

“HA!” Mr. Javier barked a most un-Mr.-Javier-like laugh. “We shall see about that.”